


Incubare

by Seraphtrevs



Category: Better Call Saul (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dubious Consent, M/M, Supremely ridiculous, incubus, lalo is a literal monster, monster fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:47:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25245640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seraphtrevs/pseuds/Seraphtrevs
Summary: Nacho's life is heavy and gets heavier with Lalo's arrival. But there's something about this new Salamanca that seems more monstrous than usual...Featuring Incubus!Lalo.
Relationships: Eduardo "Lalo" Salamanca/Ignacio "Nacho" Varga
Comments: 10
Kudos: 29
Collections: Lacho Week 2020





	Incubare

**Author's Note:**

> Written to accompany krokorobin's incredible art for Lacho week 2020! The full pic was too hot for Tumblr to handle, so I'm posting it here. Enjoy!

_Incubare. Latin. to lie upon, weigh upon, brood_

Nacho’s life is heavy, and it gets heavier every day. It’s not just metaphorical—he feels it in his body, like there’s a weight strapped around his neck. His shoulders ache from bearing it.

It’s even worse when he lies down. The weight on his chest is unbearable. In his junior year of high school, before he had to drop out to help at the shop, he read a play called The Crucible about the Salem witch trials. He can’t remember much of it, but the fate of one of the characters always stuck with him—Giles something. He was pressed to death—stone were piled on top of him, more and more every day, until the life was squeezed out of him. And every time his tormentors demanded he confess, he just responded _, More weight_.

Lalo’s arrival is just another stone on his chest. He’s been Fring’s creature for a while now, but it was a distant threat—something that he could put out of his mind while he went about his business, only reminded of it when his scars ache. But now that Lalo’s here, he lives the terror of Fring’s threat every day.

It would be one thing if Lalo was another Tuco or Hector—stupid and easily manipulated. But Lalo is smart, and he’s always watching Nacho—not with hostility, exactly, but it feels…predatory. Does he suspect? Or is there some other reason he watches Nacho so carefully? There's something about him that feels more dangerous than the other Salamancas, even with all his charm and smiles. Nacho can't put a finger on it, but it makes him nervous.

He feels like he’s going crazy. He fantasizes about giving into it sometimes—just losing his shit and telling the truth, scream like Giles “more weight, more weight.” Get it over with. Let them kill him. Anything other than this immobility.

But there’s Papá to consider, and so Nacho keeps it together.

Barely.

***

“You feeling okay, Ignacio?” Lalo asks.

Nacho starts. They’re at the restaurant, counting the take. Everyone else has gone. He realizes that he’s been staring at the same bill for several minutes. He rubs his face. “Yeah, sorry. This one just looks weird.”

“Really? Let me see.” Lalo lowers his blue loafers, which had been propped up on the table, and crosses the room. He pulls up a chair, scooting it much closer than it needs to be. He plucks the bill from Nacho’s hands and holds it to the light. “Looks all right to me,” he says and hands it back. His fingers brush Nacho’s hand. He’s pretty sure that’s deliberate.

As Nacho wraps a rubber band around the roll of bills, Lalo puts his hand on his shoulder. “You don’t look so good—you coming down with something?”

He sounds so concerned. Nacho almost laughs. “Yeah. I’m fine, just tired.”

“You aren’t sleeping? I don’t sleep much myself—an hour or two, and it’s enough. But most people need more than that.”

Nacho rolls that information around. Lalo never looks tired. In fact, he has more energy than anyone Nacho has ever met. “An hour? How is that possible?” he asks, and then clamps his mouth shut. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

Lalo winks. “That’s my secret.” His voice lowers to a purr. “You got someone to tuck you in at night? That can help.” He still hasn’t taken his hand off his shoulder.

Shit. Is this what all those heavy-lidded looks had been about? Nacho stiffens. “Yeah. I’ve got girls.”

“ _Tienes muchas chicas?_ ” Lalo chuckles and gives him a pat. “ _Bien por tu._ ” He stands up. “Maybe you’re not eating enough. Here, I’ll make you something.” He goes back to the kitchen.

Nacho wants to leave, but that would probably insult him. So he finishes putting the money away, and then puts his head in his hands and shuts his eyes.

Lalo returns with a plate of steaming hot tacos. Nacho’s stomach growls, and he realizes that he hasn’t had anything since a bowl of cereal that morning. Lalo’s right—he hasn’t been eating enough. He tucks in right away. It’s decadent—the meat is juicy and flavorful, and the salsa has just the right amount of spice. The grease dribbles down his chin.

Lalo leans back in his chair, watching Nacho eat. “Good, yeah? You didn’t believe me the first time I cooked for you.”

“I told you. I wasn’t hungry.”

“But you’re hungry now.” Lalo’s grin is smug. He gestures. “Go on, eat! I can make you more.”

Nacho finishes his plate. Lalo whisks it away and comes back with more. He eats until he hits a wall, too full to continue. Lalo’s eyes are slit like a satisfied cat, and Nacho feels self-conscious suddenly. He looks around for a napkin, but the dispenser is empty. He has to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Feeling better?”

“Yeah.” It’s true. 

“Good. If you’re going to be my man this side of the border, I need you healthy. So you ever need feeding, you come to me. Any time. Like I said, I don’t sleep.”

 _His man?_ What did he mean by that? His right-hand man, maybe. A loyal lieutenant. Does that mean he trusts him now? Fring will be happy, but it just makes Nacho queasy.

Lalo holds out his hand, asking for the plate even though he could have just picked it up himself. His fingers brush Nacho’s hand again. “I can help you sleep, too,” he says, his voice low. “Those girls of yours, I don’t think they take very good care of you.”

And then he’s gone, whisking the plate to the kitchen, singing to himself. “ _Hermoso cariño_ _, Ya estoy como un niño con nuevo jueguete …_ ”

 _Hermoso Cariño_. Beautiful darling. He knows this song. A sweet love ballad, no reason at all for it to send a shiver up his spine. But it does.

All at once, he needs to get out of there. “I’m gonna head out,” he says, trying to sound casual.

“ _Esta bien_ ,” Lalo calls out from the kitchen. “ _Dulces sueños, Nachito._ ” He starts singing again.

 _Sweet dreams._ It’s such a weird thing to say in the middle of the afternoon. Nacho forces himself to not to bolt. Lalo’s voice follows him out the door: “ _No puede evitarlo y quiero gritarlo, Hermoso cariño que Dios a mandado nomas para mi_ …”

When he gets in the car, he blasts his favorite hip hop station as loud as he can, trying to drown out Lalo’s song.

It doesn’t work.

***

Nacho doesn’t take either of the girls to bed that night, wanting to be alone. He expects another restless night, but a wave of exhaustion hits him almost as soon as night falls. He should welcome it; he needs sleep. Instead, he fights it, trying to force his eyes to stay open. It’s not a battle he can win, though—not with how ragged he’s run himself lately. He strips off his clothes and crawls into bed, asleep almost before his head hits the pillow.

Sometime later, he wakes, his eyes blinking open but meeting nothing but pitch darkness. He lies naked and prone on his back, one arm thrown over his head. He tries to get up.

He can’t.

In fact, he can’t move at all. His chest heaves as he tries with all of his might to move, but it’s like he’s being pressed down by an invisible force. The only thing he manages is to turn his head to one side and grasp the sheets in his fist. They aren’t his sheets—they’re made of red silk.

Or maybe that’s just a reflection, because it isn’t pitch-black anymore. The room is bathed in red light, and swirls of black shadows pass over him. He doesn’t think this is his room, but where else would he be?

A dream. It has to be a dream. Except when you’re dreaming, you never know that you’re dreaming, right? It’s only after you wake that you realize that none of it was real.

This feels real.

He tries again to move. No luck. He breaks out in a cold sweat as dread overcomes him. Something bad is coming, he feels it in his bones. He has to escape, has to run…

A large shadow falls over him. It swirls, and then a figure emerges—big and masculine, as naked as he is. It takes him a moment to make out its face.

Lalo. And he has the horns of a demon.

He screams, except it comes out as nothing more than a faint cry. The demon Lalo straddles his thighs. His monstrous cock stands at attention. Nacho has never seen a dick that big—easily as long as his forearm and just as thick.

 _“Hermoso cariño,”_ Lalo croons. “You are so beautiful like this. I knew you would be.” He runs a hand over Nacho’s chest and down to his groin. Nacho’s cock hardens instantly at his touch. A surge of desire crashes over him, strong enough to momentarily banish his fear.

Lalo gives him that pleased cat look as he strokes his cock. “I can bring you so much pleasure, Ignacio. Just give yourself to me.”

Nacho makes one last, desperate attempt to fight, but it’s useless. And he’s so tired, so goddamn tired of the fear and the pain. It's been so long since he's felt good. And this is a dream. Maybe it's okay if he lets go, lets Lalo take control.

With one final, shuddering breath, he surrenders. _Take away my pain, please just take me..._

“Yes,” Lalo moans in triumph. “That’s it, _mi_ _cariño_.” His enormous cock pulsates as the tip grows wet. If he tries to fuck him with that thing, Nacho will be torn in two. Even in his surrendered state, his heart flutters with fear.

Lalo looks down at him and chuckles. “Don’t worry. You aren’t ready for that—at least not yet.” He gets up on his knees and moves upward, holding Nacho’s cock in place. Before Nacho can register what’s happening, Lalo lowers himself onto his cock in one slow, slick slide.

The pleasure is indescribable—wet and tight and hot. It isn’t just his cock—his whole body throbs as Lalo slowly moves himself up and down. Nacho still can’t move, still can’t do anything except lie back helplessly as Lalo has his way with him, fucking himself on Nacho’s cock as he moans and runs his hand over his own massive erection.

Time collapses into one moment of unspeakable rapture. It grows stronger and stronger, and just when Nacho thinks he will be annihilated by its intensity, the pleasure crests and he comes, so hard he thinks he might rattle apart.

The demon comes too, drenching Nacho in thick, white spunk. A few heartbeats pass, and then Lalo pulls himself up. Nacho’s cock slips out of him, wet and limp. He feels hollowed out, numb.

Lalo leans down and captures his mouth in a kiss. “ _Mucho gracias, mi cariño._ We will go so far together. _”_ And in a swirl of shadows, he’s gone.

***

The next morning, Nacho barely crawls out of bed. A dream clings to him…no, a nightmare. He just can’t remember what, only that he thinks Lalo was involved. Not that that’s surprising. His whole body feels drained; he can hardly move.

After using the bathroom, he realizes that there’s no way he’ll be able to work today. Shit, maybe Lalo had been right and he is coming down with something. Just what he needs—the flu, on top of everything else. Except it doesn’t feel like the flu. No aches, not even his usual ones. In fact, his pain is gone, and now he's just numb.

He crawls back into bed and picks up his phone, but he falls asleep before he can make a call. Or at least, he thinks so, but then he comes to when someone shakes his shoulder. Not Amber or Jo. A man’s hand.

“Ignacio? Are you all right?”

Nacho blinks his eyes open sleepily. “Lalo?”

Lalo tuts and puts a hand over his forehead. “A fever, I knew it. Good thing you called me.”

“I did?”

“Of course you did. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.” He stands up. “Not to worry. I’ll take care of you.”

Since when did drug kingpins play nurse for their minions? He tries to ask, but is too tired to figure out how to phrase it.

“Because I need you, Ignacio.” He pats his shoulder.

Nacho frowns. He’s pretty sure he didn’t say that last part out loud.

_There’s so much for me to do here, and I need my energy. Oh porbrecito—It’s always hard the first time. But you’ll get used to it._

The thought echoes in his head. But it's not his thought. At least he doesn't think so.

“I’ll go make you some breakfast—special recipe.” Lalo leaves the room, singing that damn song again, his voice in the kitchen but in Nacho’s head at the same time, like a siren's song.

_Beautiful love, beautiful love_

_I'm already like a child_

_with a new toy_

_content and happy, I can't avoid it_

_and I want to yell it out, beautiful love_

_that God has sent_

_for no one else but me…_

There’s weight on his chest again, pinning him down. He can’t move. He can’t move.

_He can’t move._

**Author's Note:**

> So this started out as Nacho having a strictly symbolic dream about Lalo being an incubus, but then it became wait, no, he's LITERALLY an incubus. What can I say, I have been overcome with Lacho week madness - hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
> 
> The song Lalo sings is Hermoso Cariño by Vicente Fernández. It's the same one he's singing to himself while spying on Gus. The lyrics were too good to resist.


End file.
